


The Nuanced Approach to Giving Sammy Shit; or, The Things Dean Does to Make His Brother Happy

by badbastion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Condoms, Dean's Healing Cock (which may not actually heal anything), Explicit Sexual Content, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Shower Sex, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Sick Sam Winchester, Snot, Wincest - Freeform, non-sexual peeing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbastion/pseuds/badbastion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean/Sam. Sam has a cold and he is the most miserable person in the world. They still have a job to do and Dean can’t do much to make him feel better except, you know, shower!fever!sex. Written for a hurt/comfort meme fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nuanced Approach to Giving Sammy Shit; or, The Things Dean Does to Make His Brother Happy

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean jerked Sam's blanket down to his waist, and Sam groaned, the sound muffled by the pillow over his head. It was an especially whiny sound, that groan, and when Sammy got whiny, well, Dean just had to go all big-brother-bully on him.

"Wake up, you giant girl," Dean said, peeling away the blanket in a smooth yank that sent it billowing off the foot of the bed. Sam whined again and curled his knees up towards his chest, so Dean gave him a ringing slap on his cotton-covered ass.

"Deeean," Sam whimpered, a nasally plea. He shivered. "I don't feel good."

This was so six-year-old-Sammy that Dean had to laugh.

"Get up, you baby. We work with broken bones. All you gotta do today is go down to the library. I mean, that's like a vacation for you anyway, right?"

Sam peeked out from under his pillow. His face was flushed, nose even redder, and his eyes were narrow, puffy slits. "I don't have to ride along for the interviews?" he asked hopefully, and without the pillow to muffle him, Dean could hear how stuffy he was.

"Nah. 'Sides, you'd probably just scare them, looking like that. Seriously Sammy, _I_ don't even want to touch you. Blech. "

Sam's kicked-puppy face turned into a scowl and he tried to hide under the pillow again, but Dean yanked it out of his weak grasp.

"I'm cold," Sam whispered, crossing his arms over his chest.

With a long-suffering sigh, Dean grabbed his shoulder, touched his cheek, then pressed the backs of his fingers against Sam's forehead.

"Fine, you've got a fever," Dean said, careful not to sound sympathetic. Whiny-Sammy could quickly turn into Crying-Sammy if you were too openly nice to him. Over the years, Dean had picked up lots of little tricks to keep Sam on just this side of weepy. You know, to help Sam preserve the integrity of his manhood.

"Come on, come on, get your ass in the shower. You smell like sick sweat. Pretty gross, dude."

Dean followed Sam away from the bed, squeezing his high, tight ass as they crossed the threshold to the cramped bathroom.

"Dean!" Sam said, scandalized.

"What, just cause you're sick means I can't cop a feel? C'mon, Sammy, take those pants off and show me the goods."

Sam sat down on the lid of the toilet, head in his heads, and said something that sounded like, "urgh."

"Sammy, Sammy, you're doing this bathroom thing all wrong." Dean dug in Sam's toiletry bag until he found a package of over-the-counter cold meds. He popped two out of the blister pack and filled a complimentary paper cup with tap water.

He tapped Sam on the shoulder. "Take your vitamins," he said, "and get your butt in the shower."

Sam gave him another one of those kicked-puppy looks, and Dean felt a little twinge. He really did look pitiful with his blood-shot eyes and his pale skin blotched with hectic pink, and his sleepy-hair greasy, cork-screwing and swooping in a very unattractive way. For a second, Dean wanted to falter, to be straight-up kind and gentle like he might have when they were very young, but Sam's eyes were already shinier than they'd been a second ago, and if Dean kept looking at him (tenderly? Was he accidentally giving Sam some dewy-eyed look of concern?) like this, the waterworks were going to start before Sam even took the pills out of his hand.

"Sammy--" Dean said, letting the last syllable come out long and rough. "Don't make me carry you to the shower. I'd probably throw out my back, with your heavy ass. I'm not twenty anymore, you know."

His eyebrows curving up into that exaggerated sad-forehead thing he did, Sam took the pills out of Dean's hand and washed them down in two quick gulps, then he coughed weakly. Wordlessly, Dean refilled the cup and handed it back, and Sam downed that just as fast.

Dean had to chivvy Sam up off the toilet and out of his pajama pants, then he pulled Sammy's arm over his shoulder to get his wobbly body into the shower (getting in another ass-grope as he did.)

"Deeean." Sam sighed. "I didn't go pee."

Dean laughed. "Smart guy like you doesn't know how to pee in the shower?"

"So gross," Sam muttered, but then Dean heard the musical splash against the fiberglass shower floor.

Dean grimaced. He wasn't the kind of guy to sniff at people's piss, but... whether he wanted to be or not, he was pretty well-acquainted to Sam's, after over two decades of close-quarters living. It was always a little different, yeah, but it was only this bad when Sam's body was fighting off something hardcore.

Hurriedly, Dean shucked his sweatpants and t-shirt, and he stepped into the little shower stall beside Sam. It was a tight fit, and with the shower curtain closed Dean could smell the sick heavy in his nose. He made an exaggerated stink-face. "Brush your teeth after, okay? I'm not kissing you until you do."

"Okay," Sam said, his eyes closed and swaying a little on his feet.

"Jesus, Sammy. Look, just... hold onto my shoulder or something, and I'll get the water started." Dean squeezed past Sam, wincing at the cold and slimy shower curtain. Sam was _going_ to wash his back before they were done here, or Dean was never doing anything nice for him again. With himself as a shield between the shower spray and Sam, Dean twisted the knob. He hissed and cursed when the cold water splashed straight into his face, and he almost lost his balance between spluttering out his surprise mouthful and Sam leaning heavily against him.

"It's so cold," Sam whispered, shuddering against Dean's back.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just give it a minute," he said, more roughly than he meant to. But goddamn, it was Dean who was taking the brunt of it, here.

Sam clutched at him blindly, still shivering, resting his heavy head on top of Dean's. He pawed at Dean's wet shoulders, got a grip with an arm around Dean's waist, and he finally stopped listing from side to side once the water got nice and toasty.

"That feels good," Sam murmured, leaning his head forward over Dean's shoulder to let the spray soak the top of his head.

Dean laughed. "Then quit crowding me, and get over here." He shoved Sam under the hot spray (sliding his back along the disgusting shower curtain again; the things he did to make his brother happy, Jesus...) and helped hold him up with his hands firm on Sam's narrow hips, thumbs resting just inside of his jutting hipbones.

"Nnngh," Sam grunted, and it would have been sexy if he hadn't immediately snuffled, phlegm bubbling and snapping inside his nose.

"God, that's hot," Dean deadpanned, then he had to do some quick footwork to avoid the glob Sam spit on the textured floor of the shower.

"Sorry," Sam said, voice sounding clearer now, and Dean gave himself a peremptory pat on the back. Hot shower, always good for what ails you.

Clearing his throat roughly, Sam tilted his head back and let the hot water stream down his body. The color in his face was a more even pink, and his chest and shoulders were flushing from the heat. Sam's nipples hardened, and the flat muscles of his belly lengthened and twitched as Sam stretched his arms and back, planting one hand against the nubbly, water-stained ceiling.

"All right, Sasquatch, quit showing off," Dean said, his voice thick. Sam's navel was the hottest little dip between his abs, not a full innie, just that flat, shallow fold of skin that showed up on obnoxiously fit bodies. "Let's wash that stink off of you, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly, blinking. "I think... " he licked his lips, visibly cracked and dry. "I think I'm waking up. Thanks for, for getting me into the shower."

Dean grunted in response, reaching for the soap.

"Still feel bad, though," Sam said, clearing his throat again and snuffling, and twisting to make an effort to spit at the drain this time.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You just wanna go back to bed, right Samantha?"

Sam's face got all sad and twisty, like he wanted to say yes, but he didn't want Dean to make fun of him for it.

Almost, Dean made fun of him anyway, but he figured he'd already counteracted his nice big brother stuff with enough snark and mocking that now he had some buffer left over for kindness. It wasn't even a fully conscious determination; ever since ninth-grade physics, Dean had compared his complex, nuanced treatment of Sammy to the natural calculus of catching a thrown ball, something that he was also pretty damn good at.

"C'mon, let's get you clean," Dean said. He scrubbed the soap bar between his hands then placed it in its depression in the shower wall, and he spread his hands out over Sam's chest.

With a sigh, Sam leaned back against the wall, and he took a deep breath that made his chest swell under Dean's slippery fingers. Sam's body was hard and wet and slick from his shoulders down to his hips, his muscles feeling smooth and rounded under Dean's sudsy hands, and he made a little moaning noise when Dean ran his open hands up Sam's long neck, thumbs coming up to smear suds along Sam's jaw. He stroked again, rubbing back behind Sam's ears, making him shudder.

Wordless, taking deep, steady breaths through the wreaths of steam curling around them, Dean grabbed for the shampoo and poured a large dollop of it into his palm. When he reached up to dig his fingers into Sam's hair, Sam groaned and blindly folded his arms around Dean, pulling him close so that their chests slid together. With careful pressure, Dean scrubbed Sam's scalp, circling his fingers from the crown down to the base of Sam's skull, trying half-heartedly to ignore Sam's soft, pleased whimpers. Then he tilted Sam's head into the warm spray again and he sluiced the suds out of Sam's hair, then wiped Sam's face clear of them.

"You gonna give me a hand, or you gonna make me do all the work?" Dean asked, a playful roughness in his voice.

Sam's eyes narrowed to tiny, glittering slits, the corner of his mouth lifted. "You know I like it when you do all the work," Sam slurred, floating somewhere between fever-delirium and head-rub-high. It was kind of a lie, but it was also kind of adorable, and pretty damn hot.

"Yeah, you're so my bitch," Dean rumbled in his best porn-star-top voice, knowing that made Sam roll his eyes, but sometimes it also made his dick twitch. Dean gave the side of Sam's thigh a light swat. "Now turn around."

Sam groaned a little bit, and as he turned, his cock brushed up against Dean's hip, all fat and thick and half-hard.

"Even when you're sick, huh Sammy?" Dean said against the back of his ear.

Sam nodded, then let his forehead drop against the wall. "You're just," Sam said, then he did this kind of slithery thing and let his legs slide apart when Dean smeared soap down the long muscles of his back.

"Yeah, I am," Dean agreed, grinning. He gave Sam's back and arms a soaping, massaging tight muscles as he went and listening to Sam's moaning, snuffly soft sounds echoing off the tile. When he soaped down Sam's ass, slow, squeezing his round cheeks, he had to bite his lip because damn, his little brother had the _best_ ass, it actually kind of made him proud. In the interests of being thorough, he ran two fingers down between, massaging soap over Sam's tight little asshole.

"God, Dean," Sam whispered. "I don't even know what's, my body's so confused..."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, soaping around Sam's hips, rubbing a hand under his navel and lower, fingers scrubbing down the line of crisp, curly hair until it spread wider. Opening his mouth against Sam's shoulder, he let his touch linger there, rubbing tiny soapy circles in Sam's short curls, knowing that if he moved his fingers down just an inch, just half of one, he'd be touching the base of Sam's thick, fever-hot cock.

"Yeah, I... Dean, god, I feel so dizzy and sore all over, but I," Sam had to take in a deep, shuddery breath that he immediately coughed out. "God, I want you to do things to me." It was quiet, like a secret, barely audible over the steady hiss of the shower.

Dean breathed out against Sam's soaked skin and let both of his hands slide down the fronts of Sam's thighs, then up the insides, gently cupping Sam's big, heavy balls. His own hard cock pressed against the back of Sam's thigh, and with a little bump of his hips it slid higher, rubbing through the soapy slick until it nudged the swell of Sam's perineum.

"They say," Dean said, keeping his voice matter-of-fact, "that light exercise is good for a cold. Strengthens your... immune system, or some shit."

Sam panted, his back swelling against Dean's chest, Dean's amulet a hard, sharp familiar point between them. "I love it when you use your shitty lines on me," Sam croaked, then he sniffled. "Yeah, do it."

Once they'd gotten over the initial, month-long _Are we seriously fucking?_ freakout, Dean had never asked Sam if he was sure. Not even once. It wasn't his style. (And besides, Sam had made him promise to cut it out already, or else find someone else to fuck. It had been a no-brainer.) Sam was sick and sore and had woken up so unhappy, and was likely to be a sniffly downer for a few days, but Dean knew the healing power of a good deep-dicking.

It'd cheer Sammy up for a few hours, at least. Dean grinned. The things he did to make his brother happy.

Pressing his grin up against the back of Sam's neck, Dean finally wrapped his soapy hands around Sam's cock. Sam's thick, burning hot cock, so long it almost took both Dean's hands to span it. It was a beauty of a cock, flushed at the shaft and going darker at the fat, blunt head, and with a few snaking veins that Dean loved to map with his tongue. Dean twisted his hand around the head, thumbing at the tip, smearing the slippery precum around the tiny lips of his slit, and Sam gasped. 

"Dean," he groaned, and Dean felt the rumble of it straight through Sam's back.

Dean was breathing deeply, mouthing at Sam's clean skin and rutting up between Sam's thighs. He could feel his dick catch at the little dip of Sam's asshole, and each time it did he let out a little gasp. After a few of these, Dean pulled back, his hands planted on Sam's waist.

"Goddamnit," he panted. "Be right back."

And he was, once he'd torn open his bathroom bag to get at the condoms and lube. He climbed back into the shower, and was just about bowled over by lust at seeing Sam. Sam propping himself against the shower wall, tall and long and tan, wet hair clinging to his face and neck, legs spread and cock jutting out and ass tipped upward, waiting for him. Then Sam started coughing.

It didn't quite ruin his sex appeal, but it was enough to get Dean moving again. He wrapped his arms around Sam's chest, feeling the coughs trail off, then he licked at the back of Sam's neck, tasting skin and water, and the strangely appealing taste of clean wet hair. Sam kind of snuggled back into him, sealing their bodies together all down his back.

"Tell me what you want, Sammy," Dean whispered, and that totally wasn't an _Are you sure?_

"I want you to... make me feel good, Dean."

"Okay." Dean licked the back of Sam's neck again, then reached past him to turn off the shower stream. He could feel Sam stiffening on his way to protest, so he cut him off. "Plenty of steam," Dean said, getting impatient but trying to hold it in. "This way, hot water when we're done."

"Okay," Sam whispered, twisting and pressing back again. The sweet curve of his ass brushed against Dean's cock, and they were both right there again, panting and grinding against each other.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, Sammy," Dean murmured. "Gonna make you come so hard."

Sam could only answer with a wordless, high gasp of a sound, and another desperate twist of his hips.

Dean was leaking all over himself and smearing it on Sam's ass and thighs, and he got hold of himself long enough to squeeze a huge pool of lube onto his fingers. He had the presence of mind to rub it between his fingers and thumb to warm it a little, then he drew a trail up Sam's inner thigh, tracing up Sam's full balls, pressing gentle and slick against the swell behind them, and by then Sam was breathing in shallow, shaky breaths.

"God, you're hot," Dean whispered, massaging slippery circles against Sam's hole. Sam made a long, whining sound, but the good kind of whining. He wanted Dean's cock, is what that sound meant. He wanted Dean _in_ him.

"Sammy, Sammy," Dean groaned, his cheek sliding along the heat of Sam's back. He felt Sam's deep exhale as he opened Sam up with one finger, sliding it in slow and smooth and not stopping until he reached the last knuckle. Sam breathed in then, long and shuddery, and Dean let him take a few more breaths. Kissing and licking and sucking light marks along Sam's back, he fingered him open with a care he hadn't used since they'd first started, so inexperienced at this particular act that they were all nerves and tension, bodies strung tight.

Sam was utterly relaxed against him now, moving with Dean's fingers and moaning softly, the sound dreamlike, bouncing off the files and doubling back on itself, and muted by the thick, warm steam that still surrounded them.

Eyes half-lidded, Dean rolled a condom down his cock, then he nudged it against Sam's flushed, relaxed hole, circling and pressing but not pushing through.

"Dean, fuck." Sam's voice was scratchy and strained, and his legs were shaking.

Dean drew in a hissing breath and nudged a little harder, the tip of his cock pushing against Sam's asshole, just short of squeezing in. "God, I know, Sammy, gonna be so good--"

Dean pressed in just as Sam bore down, and Sam's wet, pink asshole opened up around him. They both grunted, and Dean's hips took a hard buck forward, burying more of himself inside Sam.

His hands finally free of lube and condoms, Dean reached around and took Sam's dick in hand again, groaning at the sheer weight of him. Thrusting deeper, he stroked Sam, everything all wet and hot. Sam's cock jerked, wetness gathering and dribbling down Dean's knuckles, and his insides were blazing hot around Dean's cock, and squeezing, and Dean wanted to get deeper and deeper. Deeper, driving up into Sam's guts, making him squirm and pant, _deeper_ , his pubic bone finally shoving up against Sam, and even then he had to grind in, circling his hips to feel Sam's ass flutter and grip him.

"God _damn_ it, Sammy, holy shit," he breathed, and Sammy was making these hot little breathless moans, pitch wavering, voice fading in and out. Like he barely knew he was even making the noises; they just spilled out of him, like his precum spilled out of him, getting Dean's hand so wet it filled Dean's head with thoughts of tasting it, of spinning Sam around and getting that big, wet dick in his mouth, sucking Sam off until he blew his load all down Dean's throat.

"I wanna suck you off later, Sammy," he whispered, sliding his other hand alllll the way up Sam's twitching stomach, and Sam's hard, fever-hot chest to grip his shoulder, wanting to hold on to all of Sam's long body. Sam clenched and shuddered around him, and fuck. Dean's eyes rolled back, and he panted through his open mouth as he gave it to Sam deep and smooth, pulling out all the way before he drove back in, twisting his hand up Sam's cock.

Sam took a deep, shaky breath and then he coughed it out, and Jesus _fuck_. "Oh shit, oh shit," Dean gasped, his dick caught tight in the grip of Sam's wildly spasming, clenching ass. He dug his teeth into his lower lip, his eyebrows drawn up tight, and he thrust wildly, one hand tight on Sam's hip, the other loosening so that Sam's cock had a wet hole to thrust into as Dean tumbled recklessly toward the edge.

"Sam, Sammy, yeah, fucking good," Dean rasped as he came in a flood, filling his condom with hot wetness and thrusting through it, fucking into Sam's deliciously hot, quivering ass. "Want to feel you come," Dean groaned, purely because he loved telling his Sammy to come-- because Sam's cock was already bucking and spurting in his hand, soaking it, and Sam was trembling against him, going loose and heavy before his cock even stopped jerking.

Dean rested his forehead against Sam's back as he came down, and boneless, he peeled their bodies apart, slipping out of Sam's ass with a grunt that Sam echoed.

Sam turned, and he shivered as his shoulders met the tile, cool now that most of the warmth had dissipated. "God, Dean, that was... intense," he said, coughing out a laugh, flushed red from his forehead down to his pebbled nipples, his hair curling wet against his face. "Whenever I'm sick. Okay?"

"Yeah?" Dean said, leaning in between Sam's spread, shaking thighs. His now-bare, wet cock slid against Sam's, and their heaving bellies met, and Sam caught Dean's face in his hands and leaned forward. He was most definitely sick, and his breath still stank, but what the hell. "Just one," Dean said with a crooked smile, and he pressed his lips against Sam's chapped mouth and kissed him.

+++++

"You said whenever you're sick, right?" Dean asked as he added the blanket from the back seat of the Impala to the ones already covering Sam where he was curled up tight in bed, clean and warm, and all stuffy-nosed again. After the rest of his shower, Dean had checked Sam out and determined that yeah, even after medicine and a hot shower and a good, hard fuck, he was too sick to go out today in this icy weather.

"Yeah," Sam said, reaching for his water bottle.

Dean handed it to him. "So if you get some rest today, will you still be sick when I get back?"

Sam let out a snotty laugh, then covered his face with his hand and grabbed for his tissues. "I promise I'll be sick when you get back," Sam said.

"You'd better be. I gotta do those interviews--without you--and I still need to pick up that fax from the police station. So I'll see you tonight," Dean said.

"Okay. Thanks, Dean."

"Later," Dean said, knowing as he closed the door behind him that he'd be back in an hour or two with fancy hot coffee and soup and biscotti or whatever and animal crackers (Sam still liked animal crackers, right?) and maybe some giant fuzzy socks for Sammy's cold feet.

Pulling his coat tighter against the cold, he sighed and shook his head. The things he did to make his brother happy.

 

The End!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [h/c comment meme](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/497368.html) (still ongoing) at [ohsam](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/) for [this prompt](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/497368.html?thread=3004632#t3004632).


End file.
